We'll turn Manhattan into an isle of joy.

In the spirit of embarrasing Zach on what's supposed to be the happiest time of his life, I'm going to blog about going to New York for his wedding.

First off, Terminal 2 at Pearson is pretty crap from which to catch a flight. It's downright miserable when said flight is cancelled. That misery turns to anguish after waiting 4 hours for the next available flight out. Apparently, said aguish is still just the top of the iceberg since six other New York-bound Torontonians had another 10+ hour wait ahead of them, unbeknownst to them. Crap? No. Misery? No. Anguish? No. At this point, it's penance for past sins. But that didn't stop Yen Vi from revisiting her Bridezilla days and go all Travellerzilla on Air Canada's ass as Wendell looked on in pride. AC, of course, put her complaint in the pile labelled "Day to day business: Don't Really Give A Damn".

Meanwhile, Paul is alone in New York wondering where the hell is everybody and how he can scam his way to the top of the Chrysler Building.

Winston bought his shoes and the ever-vigilant front desk at the Marriott gave yet another keycard to someone who wasn't "Raphael Shami". And suddenly, we were three. So to hell with the poor saps clearing customs for a 14th time at Pearson, time for this trio to tear it up in NYC! 20 minutes later, we were huddled in the door frame of a store waiting for the torrential rains to subside. And as the folks in Toronto hopped from gate to gate, the folks in New York hopped from shelter to shelter.







Then it was off to the theatre district where we got a terrific bird's eye view of the queues for Spamalot and The History Boys. The makings of another tale of drama and mystery also began to unfold around this time: "How Wen Managed to Lose his Mom's Beige Totes Umbrella".

Speaking of acting, a few more hours(five) would pass before Paul, Winston and I had to walk that fine emotional line between showing empathy and mocking ridicule when our weary, not-quite-airborne regiment finally made it into Manhattan. As a sign of respect, Paul and I let Rafi have the nice plush double bed in our room while I heroically claimed the other nice plush double bed in our room(because of my back pains, you see) and Paul got the pull-out, because, well, you know, um...you're the best, Paul.

The next morning, despite the fact that Line 1 wasn't functioning on our room's phone, spirits were soaring high and appetites abound so we went to a diner for breakfast. I forget the name 'o the place but let's call it "Pedro's" in honour of the Hispanic staff and the Spanish omelette I ordered. Little did we know Zach was tailing us, disguised in drag...look carefully at the picture below:





So then, as we'll be doing 50 years from now on the corner of futuristic eSidewalks as hover cars whiz by, we stood around figuring out what to do. 10 minutes later(or as they say at Terminal 2: 'immediately') we broke the huddle. His first attempt to see the Chrysler Building thwarted, Paul decided to stick with the theme and go with Rafi to see the Chrysler Intrepid. The Ng-Sartorio clan went shopping because Karen's closet is only 11 black slacks and 9 black tops away from sucking out all the light from her bedroom. Winston went to a museum. Which museum? Yo MOMA's, that's whose! Bwaaa ha ha ha! Right. And I went all 3rd wheel on Yen Vi and Wendell and we went to the MET museum(Google terms: MET ART).

Then the big day came around: Sunday. No, I didn't forget the reason we were all together. The reality of the absence of one of the crew was slowly dawning on us and we had to celebrate him, if only for the fleeting moments we were together. So we put together this birthday greeting for Damian: BAM

Ok ok, so we were there for another reason. And despite the above festivities of Saturday we did manage to coordinate our schedules and say a quick "hello" and "goodbye" to our lost compatriot: Charles. I say "quick" because I spent a few hours(or as they say in Terminal 2: 'shortly') going door to door searching for my lost umbrella. Oh my wittle Totesy Wotesy! I miss yoooooou!! Wait, no, that's somebody else...someone else that had some role over the weekend....but I can't remember who right now.

Well, it's time to wrap up this miserable affair(the trip, not this posting..no wait, the other way around.). At this point Paul had disappeared. As he tipped everybody he saw on the way out of the hotel, he jumped in a cab and headed home with a pitstop at the Guggenheim I think. I hadn't seen Karen, Kevin and Karlson in 12 hours, not even in the Prada store which we inexplicably walked into and explicably walked out of...so I guess I'll wish them goodbye and safe flight back now. As Winston and I raced to LaGuardia, me on the MTA, him in a taxi(he won), the Ramlogans started to formulate their 1 year wedding anniversary plans...which would be over in 5 hours. Rafi, having been left high and dry Home Alone 2 styles(aka Paul O'Leary styles), decided that he wasn't going to be deprived of fun, so off he flew to Ottawa with 27 stopovers along the way.

With all joking aside, thank you Charles(and Joanne), for everything: meeting up with me at Starbucks despite my flawed sense of North, for delivering Rafi's package, for showing us around SoHo and for no doubt leaving me a comment on how lame this posting is.

And so it ends...if I had to choose a defining picture of the weekend it would be this:




Wen